My friend is insane. I love her, but she is out of her mind.
RILEY: He is there to serve and protect … your vagina.
SLOANE: Riley!!!!
RILEY: Oh, come on, that was a good one.
SLOANE: I am here to find myself again after Chett.
RILEY: And you can do that in bed with the hot stranger.
SLOANE: Goodbye Riley.
RILEY: Use protection.
I shove my phone away, my face burning hot enough to melt the snow outside. This is not a Christmas movie. This is a weather emergency. A temporary situation. Nothing more. Except my traitorous body does not seem to have gotten that memo.
The door opens, bringing with it a gust of freezing air, snow, and Jax stomping his boots on the mat. “Generator is good. We should be all set.” He pulls off his jacket again, and I deliberately look anywhere else. “The fire is going strong. Should keep us warm through the night.”
“Great. Thank you.”
He moves to the kitchenette, pulling out a pot and a few cans from the cabinet. “Hungry? I can heat up some soup. It’s not fancy, but it is hot.”
“Not really.” My stomach chooses that moment to growl audibly. “Guess I am.” My cheeks turn bright red. Thanks, body.
Jax smiles, and my stupid stomach, the one that betrayed me, does a flip.
“I’ve got like wine and cheese in the car, too,” I tell him.
“Sounds like you were planning a good night, then.” He chuckles as he clatters around the kitchen.
“I was …”
“Sorry to have spoiled it.” He gives me a small smile.
Damn fricken smile. My stomach flutters again. I’m in so much trouble. This is going to be a very long three days.
“You haven’t spoiled anything,” I reassure him.
3
JAX
Ishould not notice the way she blushed when her stomach growled. But I did. I notice everything about Sloane Winters, and that is a problem. A big problem. I have been doing this job for seven years. Seven years of emergency calls and rescue operations, and people making spectacularly bad decisions in dangerous weather. I have pulled families out of ditches, talked down panicked hikers, and guided lost tourists to safety. It was what I did. It is who I am. And in all those seven years, I have never once been distracted by someone I was helping.
Until now.
Until a woman with dark hair, sharp obsidian eyes, and a stubborn tilt to her chin rolled down her window and looked at me like I was either her salvation or her worst nightmare. She has not decided which yet, and honestly, neither have I. I busy myself with heating up the soup, clattering around the small kitchenette more than necessary. Anything to keep from staring at her. From noticing the way, she has tucked her legs under herself on the couch. From seeing how the firelight catches in her hair. From thinking about how good she smells even after hours in a car. Vanilla and something citrusy. It hit me when Ireached past her to grab her bags, and it has been stuck in my head ever since. Professional, Reid. Stay professional.
“I’ve got like wine and cheese in the car, too,” she says, and I can hear the embarrassment in her voice. Her cheeks have turned that pretty pink color again.
“Sounds like you were planning a good night, then.” I chuckle, stirring the soup. Trying to keep things light. “Sorry to have spoiled it.” I give her a small smile, meaning it. I knew what it was like to need time alone. To need space to process things.
Her face softens slightly, and she returns the smile. “You haven’t spoiled anything,” she says. My stomach does something weird. Something I absolutely am not going to think about.
The soup is ready, so I pour it into two mismatched bowls and grab some crackers from the cabinet. The station dishes are a collection of random pieces accumulated over decades. Nothing matches, everything is chipped or stained, but they are clean.
“Dinner is served.” I try for a smile as I set everything on the table. “Five-star dining, ranger station style.”
